A Find Through Time

by Marianne Petit

  Her breathing shallow, quick, she raked her fingers through her hair. She could take off the clay, change it, but deep in her heart, she knew it would be wrong. She bolted from her chair. Fired. That was going to be her boss's next line.

  The room began to spin. George was mouthing something, but all she could see was that face-her face staring back at her. “I've got to get some air,” she mumbled, pushing past him.

  “Miss Gabby, are you all right?”

  She halted in mid-stride and turned. “Nobody's going to believe I didn't do that on purpose.”

  “So?”

  “George.” She paused. He wouldn't understand she felt like she had lost her objectivity. “It's kind of hard to explain.” That for some unknown reason that skull had a strange effect on her, made her blood rush, her heart pound. What could she say?

  “Your Unc--my--” Anxiety, a volcanic erupting sensation pulsated her throat. “My boss isn't going to be happy with me.”

  George looked a little confused.

  “He's going to worry about the press, the--” She waved her hand in the air. “Roy… the newspaper. There'll be a field day.” She was gonna lose her job! God, she needed her job.

  “Field day?” Nervous, George wrung his hands together. His face twisted in distress.

  Gabrielle pressed her fingers against her throbbing temple. “George, listen to me.” She took a deep calm breath, then exhaled slowly. “Don't show anybody the skull. OK?” She tried to keep her voice light so as not to upset him further. Skirting past her table, she hurried to the back of the tent, picked up a small wooden crate and wound her way back to the table. With great care she placed NAF inside.

  “I'm going to lock her up in this box. If anyone asks you where the skull is, tell them I have it. Tell them I took it over to the Reservation to do some research.” She had to get out, leave, now before Roy-before her boss-someone saw her.

  “I'll be gone for a few days.” Where, she didn’t know. Anyway, far away where she could think. Where no one could find her. Where she could be alone.

  “Then why-?” He looked perplexed.

  “I'm not really taking NAF with me.” She hammered a small nail in each corner of the lid and quickly slid the box in the back of the tent between two other boxes. Finished, she spun back around to George. “I'm afraid to move her. She's not finished and well, I don't want to… break her.” How could she explain? She was in enough hot water. She couldn't take the thing with her. First of all, it was too delicate. Second, it wasn't her property. God forbid something happened to it. No. NAF would be safe in here. No one would even be looking for her - she hoped.

  Why she went back to the site by the river was beyond her. Gabrielle stared at the slow flowing water. She lifted her gaze and glanced beyond the river's narrow bank, across the barren prairie grassland where olive green and brown blades of grass swayed gently in the warm breeze and toward the steep bluff where Custer and the Seventh Calvary had fought. Where so many had died.

  The hair on her arm rose.

  She felt it-the eeriness of the place. Even stronger then before, it caressed her, ran its prickly fingers up and down her body. She shivered and hugged her middle.

  “It’s just my imagination.” Concentrate. There’s got to be an explanation. That skull did look like her. God. She dropped her head back and closed her eyes. She couldn't lose her job. It was in her blood. It was all she had-all she ever knew. What could she tell her boss?

  She bit her lip, controlling the sob welling in her throat, straightened, and glanced around the grounds hoping to find an answer.

  Everything around her was peaceful. Birds chirped. Yellow wild flowers basked under the sunny summer rays, and the river gurgled along its path. Nothing indicated the battle of all battles, the one that had sealed the fate of all Native Americans, had taken place there. White stone markers and a tall monument stood like silent soldiers commemorating the men who had died in the Battle of Little Big Horn. Somehow it wasn't enough. There should have been some big black hole in the ground. Something that said good men died here. Good men on both sides. Those fighting to save a way of life; those trying to build a new one. Instead, only a vague, anonymous void stood between the past and present; a present that seemed to reach out and strangle her.

  She chewed her lip; wrung her hands. How could she hope to find the answer to her dilemma, when historians couldn't find the answers to what had happened that day?

  A sudden flash, a reflection off the sun caught her attention. She stared down into the deep grave, trying to make out what it was. What had the crew overlooked? Her curiosity getting the best of her, she dropped to the ground, threw her legs over NAF's burial site and jumped into the hole. The glint came from a camera lens.

  “Damn. Prescott has been snooping around. Great.” She frowned. He hadn’t just dropped by for a friendly chat. Having seen the large hole, he had to know more than he’d let on. Men! Bending over she picked up the lens. She’d been right all along. Deceiving thuds. They break your heart, then leave you alone to pick up the pieces. She never should have agreed to talk to him. The glass cut into her palm.

  A shadow suddenly veiled her vision. She glanced up. A giant black cloud billowed overhead. Electricity crackled through the air, sounding like live wires hissing in a bucket of water. Quickly she scanned the dirt for anything she’d overlooked. The wind lifted, making a tremendous swishing sound. Standing, she shielded her eyes from the whirling sand and torrid, rising winds. God, she hated storms. Ever since that time in the cave…

  Thunder rumbled, growing in severity, its deafening explosion booming. She shivered.

  “It’s definitely time to leave.” She reached for the grass overhead and began to hoist herself to ground level when suddenly, the earth beneath her shifted. Her heart leapt. Sinking fast she hurled her arms up, in an effort to steady herself, but clasped nothing but air. Her first thought: quicksand. But that was impossible. There was no quicksand in Montana. Angry winds swirled around her. The pressure so strong, like a giant vacuum, she felt sucked up in its intensity.

  Dirt slammed in her face, making it difficult to see. Furiously she gulped in the air. Her arms flailed in an attempt to grab onto anything solid. A sound like pebbles pelting against a tile roof encompassed her. Thick oozing mud glued her feet to the shifting ground. Her body shook. Then suddenly the earth beneath her opened like a trapdoor…

  Gabrielle fell, sliding into an endless pit, spiraling around and around, tossed about like in the center of a tornado. Hands clenched in a ball by her side, her hair flying above her head, she fell still deeper.

  What was happening? A storm, even one like she'd just witnessed, couldn't bury a person alive. Could it? Her mind, a tangled web of confusion, felt unhinged. The sensation of falling, of whirling in circles, seemed even stronger then before.

  In the darkness, a multitude of colors blurred before her. Reds, oranges, yellows and greens, it felt as though she were looking through a prism.

  Stark vivid fear seized her body like a cold fist closing over her heart.

  Then, in this perpetual hole of nothingness, a cacophony of sounds assaulted her senses. She heard a blast of gunfire; voices; music without any particular tune. Revolving like on a merry-go-round, with hundreds of voices all talking at the same time. Nausea rose in her throat. She closed her eyes.

  And continued to fall.

  Her anguished cry echoed. With trembling hands, she covered her face. She was dying. Tears pooled in her eyes. Her throat swelled with misery. She didn't want to die, not yet. There were so many things she wanted to do. Maybe, she reasoned, when she opened her eyes, she'd wake up.

  She didn't.

  Further and further she fell. The darkness reached around her and squeezed. The air, no longer a stifling wave of heavy molasses, cooled to a pleasant breeze, only to dissipate as rapidly as a shooting star, leaving in its wake a slap of cold air that sent waves of goose bumps up and down her entire body.

 
She wondered if she'd ever hit bottom. You never hit bottom when you were dreaming. She did, just as the jaws of darkness opened up and swallowed.

  Chapter Two

  Wyoming Territory - June l, l876

  The Lakota warrior scratched on the side of his elder’s lodge, then entered.

  “Black Hawk, I have gone on the hanbleceya, vision quest to the top of the hill and have done what has been told of me. For four days I stood before our god, Tunkashila. I wore my robe. I ate no food. Drank no water. I held the sacred chanunpa pipe in my hands. Now I come to speak with you.”

  The holy one nodded without raising his glance, as the warrior moved beside him and sat before the fire. Black Hawk closed his heavy eyelids in meditation. He puffed on his chanunpa and a curl of smoke rose high into the air. “Tell me of your vision.”

  “There is a wolf, eyes the color of the sky and a woman surrounded by a white light. I cannot see her face. She has traveled far and is lost. I see two moons in the clouds of darkness and a golden circle with four sides.” The warrior shook his head. “I do not understand this that I have seen.”

  Black Hawk listened quietly. He took another puff on his pipe, then opened his eyes. “So when the spirit of Tunkashila comes, we do not ask questions. If you do not understand just hold onto what you have seen, the answer will come.” He stood. “So, from now on you shall be known as Two Moons as spoken by your vision.”

  Black Hawk ran a roll of smoldering sage along Two Moons’ head, then up and down his body. “I, too, have been on many a hanbleceya. So, at those times I have had to have courage, patience and endurance. I have had to have alertness.” He patted the smoke into Two Moons’ body with an eagle feather. “All these you must have to be an Earth Man.”

  After the purification ritual was completed, Black Hawk took his place once again beside the fire. “So, I had learned and you must learn. We go into the Tunkan lodge on all fours to be humble,” Black Hawk’s voice was calm and steady. “So, one must be humble, to see past his own blindness. It is of these I speak.”

  Two Moons hung his head. Black Hawk spoke the truth. His quickness of tongue had caused many a fight with another. The hardness in his heart over the white blood that ran through his sister’s son, he knew, caused the boy much sadness. As for being humble... He raised his chin up a notch. He left that for the women. But-”

  “When the Spirits deem it so, you will understand their message. Now go.” Black Hawk gestured toward the tipi’s opening. “Gather those spiritual items that are to be kept in your sacred bundle.”

  With a final puff on his pipe, Two Moons knew Black Hawk would say no more.

  Two Moons looked ahead to the sacred mountains known by his people as Papa Sapa, the Black Hills. It was there he would begin his search for the medicine charms that were to be placed in his sacred bundle. Only then, with the protection from his own medicine would he have the power to fight off danger. Only then, would he be invincible to his enemy's arrows and have the strength he needed to be an even greater warrior.

  He nudged his big gray forward and began the long climb up the narrow canyon and steep cliffs lined with ferns. Creeks heavy with water rushed along his trail. Giant cedars and larches, their needle-like leaves clustered and heavy, towered over his path, allowing very little light to penetrate. The air grew cool.

  Tugging the corners of his vest up against his neck for warmth, Two Moons rode into a clearing, where the mountain ledge met a gunmetal sky. A storm approached. He could see it in the heavy dark clouds, could feel it in the winds that had suddenly become angry and whipped at the treetops.

  Already the flakes were beginning to fall. One after another, faster and faster, they tumbled down from the clouds, building in their intensity, just as hurried and frantic as his growing impatience.

  “Wakan Tanka, Great Holy Spirit.” Two Moons raised his arms to the sky in prayer. “This warrior does not understand what you have shown me. Why a wolf of white with eyes like the sky? A sacred animal not of this world? How am I to fulfill my medicine if I know not where to search for such a beast?”

  Sitting astride his horse, monstrous cold, wet flakes plummeted madly against his eyelids; they beat against his chest. “And where am I to find a coin with four sides? How can I find that of which, I do not understand? Even now, though it be the moon when the ponies are fat, when the warmth of the sun should shine upon me, you throw snow upon Mother Earth, making my journey a hard one. Am I to kill the sacred beast told only to me in the tales of the old ones?” His face to the sky, he listened for a reply. A silent hush, a breath, whispered no answers in his ears.

  His heart heavy, Two Moons opened his eyes and glanced to the horizon where a large black hawk flew low through the heavy snow. The bird's ragged shape soared through the white, battling the lashing winds.

  “Anpo Wie, my old friend,” Two Moons reached over and patted his horse's mane. “We must look for shelter.” With a gentle heel in Anpo Wie's flank, Two Moons turned his mount around and sought sanctuary in the darkness of the woods.

  ****

  Roy Prescott shivered from a sudden draft, though the sun beat down upon the tent like a hothouse. God, he hoped he wasn't getting sick. There was a story here, he could smell it. The last thing he needed to drag around with him was a cold. He pulled his collar up around his neck and peeked outside. Good. No one had seen him. He wasn't in the mood to explain to Gabby why he was poking around in her things-spying.

  His stride quick, he moved away from the tent flap. He jerked the camera strap over his head and strode, camera in hand, over to her workbench. He had a job to do. A job he couldn’t afford to lose.

  So what the hell could she have found at the site earlier in the week that had caused such a commotion? By the significance of that hole, they had dug up something big. He hadn't been able to zoom in close enough with the crowd standing around her.

  Gently he pushed aside an array of small brushes, picked up some clay and squashed it in his palm. The soft substance oozed between his fingers. So she was working on another skull. He grinned with satisfaction, then dropped the clay to the table.

  He had seen a piece on her work awhile back in a magazine. The article even printed a picture from some historical society that resembled the fellow who had lived back in the 1800's. The damned sculpture had looked like a real person staring back at him.

  But why all the hush-hush? Either it was some poor old fellow from another century, or some poor dead guy missing from last month. Either way it was news.

  The lens cover popped off beneath his fingers. He hurried over to a table scattered with papers and books, and started snapping pictures. A list of names caught his eye. He zoomed in for a closer look and shot. Never overlook anything. That was the sign of a good reporter. And God knew he had to prove to dad, he was up there with the big boys. He shot a few more pictures, then glanced around for other clues.

  It has to be here somewhere. Rummaging around in a stack of wooden cartons that were piled in a corner of the tent, he found one that looked promising. With wild anticipation his heart pounded. Once again, he glanced toward the tent’s opening.

  She’d be mad.

  He fingered the lid.

  Strawberries and coffee weren’t gonna cut it.

  “Ah, hell.” He opened the box. It would be worth getting caught if for nothing more than to see the fire in those lovely blue eyes.

  Wrapped in individual bags, rusty, broken pieces of metal that looked like junk, were labeled and numbered. Disappointed, he carefully placed the bags back where they belonged. Quickly he opened another box.

  Wrapped in a white cloth he found a large bone that looked like part of an arm. He shot a picture, wrapped it back up and unwrapped the package that lay beside it. Another bone.

  He wiped his sweating palm on his shirt. What a rush. Gabrielle had hit it on the head earlier. He loved the hunt. The excitement of searching out a story, then seeing it in print with his name at the top of the page. Adr
enaline surged through his body. That was good; it kept him alert. Kept him on his toes. Again, he glanced around. No one had discovered him yet. He still had time.

  He took a few more pictures from different angles, then dropped the lid back on the box.

  The skull had to be here somewhere; he could feel it. He moved to the next carton. It was sealed tight.

  Bingo! Pay dirt.

  He found a metal crow bar and inch by inch, he pried open the lid. Being a reporter he’d seen a lot of things that should have surprised him, but damn. What was Gabby doing? He stared at the face, which, at the moment, stared up at him. This certainly couldn't be what he was looking for.

  He snapped a picture. His instincts were usually right. Why was Gabby wasting her time making a model of her own face? It wasn’t like her.

  Before he got a chance to dwell on his find, the tent flap thumped open. He dropped the lid and turned around.

  “What are you doing here?” George asked, his face ashen. His gait jerky, he hurried around the table toward him. “Miss Gabby, she ain’t gonna like you in here. You’re not supposed to be here.”

  As casually as he could, Roy took a step in his direction. “See, that’s the thing. I’ve been looking for Gabby. Have you seen her?”

  “She’s not here.” George’s gaze fell. He stepped away. “You're not supposed to be here. I could get in a lot of trouble.” He glanced over to the stack of boxes, wrung his hands together, then glanced back. “Miss Gabby’s gonna be mad at me.”

  Roy knew what it was like to be a little slow, to be an adult with the mind of a child. His own mother, when having bouts of schizophrenia, often regressed to her childhood. The last thing he wanted was to upset George.

  “No, she won’t be mad at you,” Roy reassured him, with a gentle tap on the shoulder. “Don’t worry. She’s going to be mad at me.”